Blood Sport
by BlackCypress
Summary: A short concept that floated around for a while. Warning: Violent. Some language. Origional characters. (Story has beens talled for two years, sorry folks. Stuck on chapter seven.)
1. Bloodbath

Notation: I was orionally going to write a long and possibly chaptered fic out of this, but I never got around to it. I wrote it several years ago when pokemon was just hitting the screens, and I've recently re-written it. If enough intrest follows, I may simply use this as a teaser and continue with the progress of the story, I don't know.  
--  
  
  
Two young trainers met in the center of the ring, making short conversation as they shook hands, smiling, and waving to the cheering crowds in the raised seats all around the small battle arena. They likely traded names and wished each other luck as they parted and went to their podiums where they would be calling commands from.  
  
Traik watched from the edge of the raised seats, very close to the wall that prevented bystanders from falling in, one hand on the rail, the other in his pocket. A soft smile on his lips, his eyes looking dead. He knew these kids were not going to find what they expected tonight. He wondered who had recruited them this time, considering one barely looked like he'd come out of his home town. He just shook his head, and started cheering with everyone else when the horn blared, marking the start of the event.  
  
Overhead, the speakers blared with the voice of an unseen announcer. "Ladies and gentlemen, warriors and theives, welcome to the first match of the night, in which Trainer Harley,-"  
  
Harley, the older boy of the two, rose his hand in a fist, which caused the crowd to roar. He wore bluejeans and a white T-shirt that said 'Aspiring Rocket' across the front. He had three pokeballs on his belt, and had an expression of extreme confidence around him.  
  
"-Will be facing a new Trainer to the pokemon world, young Nemo!"  
  
Nemo waved a little on his podium. Two pokeballs on his belt, peering around at the screaming, cheering, roaring people slightly above and all around him. Thick glasses and a shirt with a big picture of a comicbook superhero on it, and black jeans, added with scruffy shoes and a backwards baseball cap. A fashion he probably didn't understand.  
  
"Trainers!" Called the unseen announcer, "This is a single pokemon battle only. No switching! Due to the limitations of the arena and the saftey of the crowd, Flying pokemon are excluded from the battle! Ready, set, THROW!"  
  
There was a slight lapse in the cheering as each person almost seemed to be holding their breaths to see what the young, inexperinced children would deliver them today. Traik calmed himself as well and signaled to one of the walking vendors for a food item.   
  
Nemo threw first, eager and trying to blend in and be impressive it seemed, "Mankey, Go!"  
  
Harley looked at his opponents pokemon a moment and began laughing as he pulled a ball from his belt and threw it into the ring, "Scyther, I choose you!"  
  
The crowds roared in approval, some of them stamping their feet, others calling to vendors. They knew the children would start off the fight just like they all had in the very beginning. They knew how it would eventually result, but they all loved it anyway. Traik munched on his hotdog, glancing down to the base of the podiums where two Pit Fiends were waiting. They wouldn't interfear the battle. They were just there for security and safety.  
  
Harley was ruthless, using Double Team to a large extent along with Wing Attack, running virtual circles around the small Mankey, who almost continuiously ignored his trainers orders and kept trying to scratch at the wings, or glare around itself, as if trying to find the 'real' Scyther whenever Double Team was used. It was a faily sad state of affairs as the Mankey just didn't seem to be making any progress, and had barely even lain a single attack to the large insect.   
  
Harley stood proud and tall, calling the commands, again and again, without variance, proud of being the cause for the cheering crouds. He was broken out of his dream however when a plastic cup half filled with some drink or another, hit him in the back of his head. He looked around, confused, and finally realized the crowds had begun to boo.  
  
The announcer boomed over the speakers, "Folks, please refrain from interfearing with the trainers through physical objects. Don't worry, the action will be quite spiced up soon enough, Mankey looks to be on his last legs!"  
  
Nemo cowered on his podium as his poor Mankey was savagly beaten, whereas Harley just looked downright confused, and glanced at the gates where they had entered the stadium, what seemed like only minutes before.  
  
Mankey screamed on the floor as the Scyther had finally managed to actually slice off the tip of its tail. The smaller pokemon began to try and run away from the Scyther, running towards the podium, squealing at its trainer, and bleeding from sevral locations in its fur.  
  
Nemo shook as he lifted his ball, pointing it at Mankey, "Mankey, Return!"  
  
When nothing happened, He tried it several more times, his voice getting panicky and started screaming, "Return! Return!! MANKEY, RETURN!" to no avail. The Mankey and Nemo stared at eachother in horror for a moment. "Run, Mankey!"  
  
During all this, Harley frowned, and looked up and around at the crowd, who'd begun to roar with glee again. Looking up at the faces of the bystanders, trying to figure it out. Something was terribly wrong. Shading his eyes, he tried to look past the lights and people, Wondering if there was something else up there that was causing the illigality of the flying pokemon.  
  
While Harley was lost in his thoughts, Scyther swung his blades again, trying to take Mankey's feet out from under him. The furry beast jumped with almost perfect timing, one of his legs getting another slice into its flesh. Finally, Mankey just seemed to lose it. Scyther next preformed Wing Attack, going with the former pattern it had been commanded into.  
  
Mankey got hit pretty bad, and at this point, it looked like it was sure to faint. And yet, when the wings came up again, to fold up and back, Mankey grabbed on with both its hands, and rode up with it. It screamed with fury and pain, kicking its legs out to go right through the wings of the Scyther, who was now thrashing about, reaching back with it's blades as far as it could, trying to smack the annoyance away.  
  
The Mankey tore at the membrane, and quickly moved up to the base, and its shoulders, crawling hand over hand, clamping down hard to prevent being thrown off. Once there, its tail curling tight around one of Scyther's shoulders, and jerked into a long and steady stream of Fury Swipes, beating at the shell mercelessly with its tiny fists.   
  
Scyther did what it could, trying various excecutions of moves that it had been taught, but simply couldn't seem to shake the creature, and screamed in pain as it heard, as well as felt, the shelling on its skull beginning to crackle and break from blow after blow after blow.  
  
Harley's attentin was caught from the crowds by the insects screamed and gasped at the resulting turn around of Mankey and Nemo's panic and pains. "Scyther, Return!" He screamed out of habit, his ball held out and waiting. His eyes widening in horror as his ball too failed.  
  
The roar of the croud was tremendous, almost deafening. Most people screaming some primal rage or glee, others shouting words of encouragement or curses. It didn't matter. It all unified into one great noise, and music to Traik's ears. He finished his hotdog as his dead, expressionless eyes continued to watch the portrayal of terror. And the idle wonderment of which trainer would wet himself first.  
  
The roar was soon joined by the screams of both trainers, and their helplessness, as their hands were suddenly bound to the podiums by cuffs, and their legs entangled in chains and straps, the latter half the work of the Pit Fiends. They wouldn't be released until the fight had ended.  
  
In the center, amid the horror and the screams for blood, the two pokemon fought erraticly, seeming to be lost in a world all their own, something neither of them had quite experinced in the wilds. A true battle for survival. Scyther turning its blades inwards and outwards until it was visibly in pain, doing its best to wound the Mankey, succeeding several times, but by then it was too late. Mankey had broken through the shell at last and was tearing away peices of the exoskeleton madly, like a little kid trying to peel a deviled egg. It's hands becoming stained with the ichor within, soon forgetting the shell and pulling out lumps of fleash, sending Scyther into a spasaming heap on the floor. Even as Mankey's strength weakened from bloodloss and exustion, it still pulled as much apart, making absloutly sure that this Scyther would never fight again, that it was dead for sure.  
  
Traik began to clap politely, slow and quiet, even though the crowd drowned him out. A twisted smile spreading over his face and a glimmer of something dark in his eyes. He agreed with the crowd, it was a fairly nice show. Indeed more decent than the usual flat out brawls that children usually fell in to.  
  
The Pit Fiends released the youths, Harley fighting back, trying to wound them and excape, screaming his lungs out, as he was carted away, to the cells elsewhere in the complex. Nemo had made a mess in his pants, but the Fiends didnt mind, as they'd done it hundred of times before. They dragged him out to the center to stand by the copse, and the winning pokemon, still panting and soaked in buggy ichor and its own blood.  
  
The announcer screamed over the speakers once more. "Congradulations, Trainer Nemo, on your glorious victory! The crowds love you're style and finesse! You can return your pokemon now! Welcome to the world of the Blood Bowl! Feinds, Clear the arena, the next match is waiting!"   
  
Traik slipped away as the clean up followed and Nemo was taken off to the same place as Harley. He mused over wheather either of them would survive the truama of their first Blood Bowl battle. They were given two days to recover. If they were still screaming, they were usually shot and discarded. If they had their minds assembled about them, they were given the choice of participating again, or being allowed to go home, if they promised never to tell anyone of the activity. Very few who went home lived more than a few days. Some commited suicide, while others couldn't handle the preassure and told someone. They were usually found dead in their beds that night. Blood Bowl was kept very secret.  
  
Traik checked the program to see who was playing next and placed his bets, thinking about what would happen after the fights were over today. 


	2. Roadwork

Disclaimer: Pokemon Fanfic. Pokemon does not belong to me, yadda yadda yadda. Traik, Brent, Vincent, Sol, and Red are origonal characters, Mine as I have written them.  
  
Notation: This is, technically, chapter two. Chapter one is Bloodbath, and should be read to better understand driving forces behind this. I didn't know about the chapters possibility until I had already uploaded Bloodbath, so pardon the disjointedness. I also altered the name of the origonal stoy slightly. Blood Sport is the real title, Blood Bath was just the name fo the first chapter. Sorry for the confusion. And yes, I'm planning on writing more to this story, though I dont know how soon any of it will be done.  
----  
  
Daybreak found Traik sitting in a small cafe, at a small table with a few others, eating early breakfasts. Like the others, he wore an orange hard hat, and an orange vest with reflective yellow strips on the back and front, over his normal clothes. Like the others, there was a toolbelt around his waist with all the nessicary items, in addition to his belt of pokeballs.  
  
To anyone looking them over, or listening to their language as they spoke to eachother, it was just a bunch of road workers having a bite to eat before shipping off to work. Five men with calloused fingers, and a few haphazard scars on arms or faces from accidents, tanned from working under the sun for a living.  
  
To themselves, they saw time toughend warriors, their eyes knowing well where eachother's scars came from, which battles, which pokemon were used, who broke the rules and why. Their speech may have been concentrated on their work and the local news of the town they were sitting in, but their eyes spoke of something more. Their fingers, picking unwanted things from sandwiches from time to time, would drop the onion or sliver of pepper into the middle of the table, giving it a little nudge closer in, before taking another bite.   
  
All these bits managed to be carefully contructed, shaping something all of them understood.   
  
"Eugh, how the heck did a lima bean get in my sandwich?" Traik said as he drew it out from the bread and crushed it into two peices with his fingers. Reaching over, he tropped the two peices into the center of the pile, muttering about never eating at this particular deli/cafe again.  
  
The others grunted, one laughing quietly, before all taking the last bites of their selected sandwiches, and looking at the middle of the table.   
  
At the prospect of a new arena. The onions posing up as walls, and other things as obsticles and hazards. Traik was preposing a much more dangerous game than they had, to the older, wizened fighters.  
  
A fist came down, and swept it all away in a napkin. The preposal had been approved.  
  
The eldest gout op slowly and stretched. "Time fer work, boys. Lets go earn a good paycheck, eh?"  
  
Trash was deposited as final quips and the beginning of workday's jokes were tossed back and forth between the workers. The staff of the deli smiling at their hard working customers, clueless to anything deeper than surface apperance.  
  
---  
  
Out on the job, working on repaving the main road leading into Celedon City, Traik proceeded to give the older warriors more detail. Here they could talk freely, or as freely as they could anywhere in daylight. They only thing they had to look out for here were pokemon trainers.   
  
"I've been with the league for, what, four years now? And since then I've been as much of a spectator as the rest of you. I've won most my fights, as you have yours. And for what? The crowds are starting to shrink. I watched ticket sales yesterday, and we only just barely filled the house. I've heard the mob scream louder at my first fight, than they did overall of last night. They're getting accustomned to it."  
  
Once Traik had fallen silent and shovled out another poile of tar, he was nudged out of the way by a bulky elder, one he hadn't yet learned the name of. The man started flattening the tar out in the area as he spoke. More to the others than Traik himself.  
  
"He's right you know. Oly the other fighters can really appreciate what goes on down on the floor, but the mob itself... They grow listless with repitition. They don't seem to acknowledge the skill and effort anymore. I've had to drive my pokemon harder than ever to get even so much as a scream, and the training is probably killing them faster than the battles themselves now."  
  
Traik continued shovling tar out of the truck, when movement further down the road caught his eye. "Trainer!"  
  
Their talk of the matters ceased instantly. The man who had just spoken began to sing something that was new to Traik's ears, and they began to shovel, flatten, and pound to the sway of the song. Also hiding all but one of their pokeballs, incase they were challenged.  
  
  
  
A red-headed girl of about twelve, dressed in white shorts, blue t-shirt and black tennis shoes trotted along the road, twords the city. She barely even gave them a glance, but in the second she looked at them, she had stopped whistling, and her hand was going twords the three pokeballs on her belt.  
  
"Hey, excuse me!" She called to them as she approached. They looked voer at her, smiling and nodding in greeting, before turning back to their work. They were getting paid for an actual job after all, not fighting with trainers.  
  
"Can I get one of you guys to battle me, please? I'd like to try out my new pokemon." She asked, fairly politely. Which was better than most trainers in fat too many occassions.  
  
They looked at eachother a moment, then the older four looked at Traik. He nodded un understanding and leaned his shovel against the truck. "I'll fight. One on one?"  
  
The girl nodded and smiled. "Yeah. Lets go up thisway a little, I passed a clearing a few minutes ago."  
  
He nodded in agreement and they walked back down the road, leaving the others to work.  
  
  
  
"Pidgey, Go!" The girl cast out her ball, and in a flash of red brilliance, out popped her pidgey.  
  
"Hey, thats a nice pokemon you have there. I've nenver seen a black one before." He said in a slightly amazed fasion, looking over the black feathered bird as he reached for his pokeball.  
  
"It was an accident actually. I was using my Charmander, and he got a little fire happy. When I took him to the pokemon center, he just stayed black." She smiled a little, even though she seemed worried about the bird's health.  
  
He nodded and threw his pokeball, "Sunkern, I choose you!"  
  
The battle began.  
  
  
  
Sunkern fought hard, draining life energy from pidgey whenever it could, following orders, trying to grow in size now and then. But the trainer behind pidgey was too smart to fall for the draining attacks too many times.   
  
Sunkern also didnt try as hard as it could have. It knew it was considered something like a decoy pokemon. Despite being pinned with the job of always losing to the passing trainer, before returning to its ball until the process repeated, it knew it was playing an important role in Traik's life.  
  
After losing to the tiny bird, its final thoughts as it fainted were of loyalty, and protecting its fellow friends of the belt.  
  
  
  
Once the girl had passed on, Traik got back to the group and got back to work. Just working to the beat of varios roadwork songs, until lunch break, when pails and soft drinks were brought out, and the break time settled in. They sat on the edge of the road under the trees and away from the tar fumes.  
  
"Whats your name again, kid?" The nameless man asked.  
  
"Traik Harlequin. You?"  
  
"Vincent Boro. Nice to meet you. Four years in the Bowl, huh? How old are you now?" He said as he offered a hand to shake, slightly greased by mayonaise that had leaked from his sandwich.  
  
"Well met, Vincent. I'm ninteen. You?" He shook hands, then wiped his hand off on his jeans, taking bits of sandwich between exchanges of words.  
  
"Thirty-two. I've spent the last three and a half years up by Mt. Moon, capturing and training whatever came across my path. Its definatly a good place to get away from things and learn the secrets behind a pokemon."   
  
This made Traik smile and shake his head in slight disbelif. "You're really close to you're pokemon? Isn't that a bit of a mistake when fighting in the Bowl?"  
  
"Maybe, but I find they fight better when they have someone to trust instead of someone to simply take orders from. Not to mention being outside the Bowl, its nice to have someone watching your back. Isn't that right, Grant?" Vincent turned slightly to the eldest of them all.  
  
Grant smiled, popping another sushi roll into his mouth, opting for rolls and rice and things unlike his co-workers. "Aye. That it is. Especially with those bothersome Rockets running around."  
  
Traik snorted at the mention of Team Rocket and just shook his head.  
  
Grant rose a brow slightly. "You're not impressed by them, Traik?"  
  
"Nope. Not a bit. Why should I be? Our entertainment in the bowl is probably more threatening than the pussywillow actions of the Rockets. So they steal a few 'mon now and then. So what? Life in general is harder than the things the claim to have done."  
  
Vincent lay a heavy hand on Traik's shoulder. "Watch your words carefully when you speak of Rockets, boy. We have proof that their corrupted fingers reach further than the police suspect. Stealing pokemon is only a slim fraction of their productiveness."  
  
"So?" He looked up at the elders, who were all watching him very carefully. "Team Rocket is the backing force to both Game Corners, I know that much. I've heard of their actions around the Lake of Rage, and rumors that Viridian City's gym leader is the supposed 'mister big' of the whole Rocket army. There's probably more, though I won't go into all that now..." He paused for a bite of sandwich, and looked at the others as he chewed.  
  
Grant ate, simple and undisturbed. Vincent's eyebrow were crawling up his forehead, either surprised Triak knew so much, or just finding out the information himself. The other two, whom he finally remembered were called Sol and Red, had stopped eating all together and were waiting for him to continue.  
  
"Bare with me here. Every kid grows up the same way once becoming a trainer. Get the bages, fight the big gues, collect them all, and either fear Team Rocket, or beat them down whenever coming across them. And more often than not,every day kids are winning. What's the point? Since when has the world even seen something to quake in their boots about? As far as I see it, theres nothing to be afraid of. The Rockets are about as scary as a pokemon with the flue."  
  
He continued eating his sandwich once he was done. When the silence stretched on for five minutes stright and he realized no one else was eating, he looked up and blinked, finding them still staring at him. Only Brent was smiling slightly.  
  
"So," Brent finally spoke, "Do you think you can do better, Young Traik?"  
  
He though about it a minute, then nodded. "Yeah. I could." 


	3. Envelope

(( Authors note: Format change. Why? because the only thing I have on my computer with a spell checker built in is Dreamweaver. Eat HTML, boys and girls. Nothing fancy, this is all about content.))

Battles were scheduled twice a month.   
  
Sometimes there were three or four a month, but there was always a minimum of seven days between gatherings. Time for cover-ups, getting rid of bodies, a bit of training or looking for someone new. There was no mandatory attendance, no roll call, nothing. You either came to the battle or you didn't. There wasn't an in-between. 

Every 'Blood Bowl' that was scheduled happened the same way. When a trainer had a Pokemon to test, some free time, had to get away from it all or any number of other reasons, he'd let the others know. Never aloud, when the police could be on every corner listening, or in any way at all obvious. In fact, the process was all a little ingenious. 

The 'Warriors' that fought in the underground battles were kids to every day people. Waiters, construction workers, road workers, an aide at the poke centers, lock smiths, artists, baby-sitters, criminals, you name it. The only person that was really in charge was the one who could keep constant contact with all of them and no one would be none the wiser. 

Grant wasn't one of the leaders because he was old and experienced. Far from it. He was that guy who sat at the phone company and sent out bills to everyone in the town he lived in. He didn't tap phones, send couriers or do anything even slightly illegal, so he couldn't be caught or even suspected. 

He was the guy that put the odd numbers of change at the end of the bill. 

Everybody received these bills all the time. There was no one who had a perfectly rounded bill, ever. There was always at least one cent off. Mr. Batashu received a bill of 33.54 last month. This month Ms. Rosa received a bill of 76.21. Hmm, lots of phone calls out of her district range. So-and-so got something-.63 or such-and-such got something-.92. You get the idea. 

Unknown to anyone on the outside of the organization however, was the special payment plan. When someone wanted to fight, a very small transaction was made. Ranging anywhere from thirteen cents, to a few dollars and just a few pennies short of the actual bill. In his little office, Grant had three lists, two on paper, one in his head. The first list was of the people who were send bills and how much. The second list was of who paid, and how much. The third list doubled in his head with the exception of knowing exactly who was a 'warrior' and who wasn't. 

Whenever a challenge was dropped, a rash of telemarketers went from calling once every twenty days or so, to calling every house three times in one day, hassling households to switch over to their specific phone plan. Everyone was bothered when this happened, so the police wouldn't notice. Unless a lawsuit was pressed against them for calling the house of a rather quiet family too many times by accident. It had only happened once though, and the company was sued rather than the lonely telemarketer who'd made the mistake, deep within the bowls of the corporation. 

The meeting place was always the same. There were a few city workers in their ranks some time back who had helped start it all, showing them where the least used or even completely shut down sections of the sewers were and how to navigate them. Everyone who needed to know, knew how to get through the system from any one of the hundreds of ways to get inside, and scuttled through the tunnels like rats before arriving at the Bowl. You never can be too cautious when you were doing something that wasn't illegal yet, just hated by most the community. 

Well, the fights themselves weren't illegal, it was mostly the ridding of information leaks that was illegal. Not that shooting someone in the head and dumping them in an unlabeled grave, river or forge was ever legal, or could ever be possibly legalized. It wouldn't even be necessary if the community had just embraced it and the cops hadn't gotten involved. 

No one knew who started the 'Blood Bowl'. Not anymore anyway. Too many people had come and gone, through this city to another, shot or quit. A few years ago, it was four or five guys who'd come together to talk about local news and thoughts towards the current masters of their Pokemon world, the final four. 

The story went that a stranger had joined their table, fitting in easily to the conversation, telling what he had heard in the next town over, or from his home town or from any other source. The story changes from person to person, but it always had the same result. 

The stranger convinced them to follow him outside, and get into a trainer battle, with a few different ground rules. The stranger had appealed to the dark sides of the men he'd approached and chilled as well as thrilled them to the bone. As far as Traik knew, when one of the rules was broken by one of the original 'warriors', the stranger had jumped him and beaten him into the ground, barely leaving him alive. Terrified, the men had lifted their buddy and rushed him off to a hospital. 

This stranger was never heard or seen from again. But over the years, other cities started having problems with a 'higher crime rate' and 'Pokemon maulings'. There had even been a few reports of Pokemon becoming so pumped for battle that they'd maul a person or even their own trainer. That had been put to a stop relatively quickly by spreading word, discreetly, for every 'warrior' to have two different sets of battling Pokemon. One or two for the fights, and the rest to be normally trained and fought with the rules set by the rest of the world. Even the Pokemon that participated were sworn to secrecy. 

Traik filled out a check for 24.51 and sent it to the phone company. His bill was actually 24.33, but he had decided to be the prime event for the next fight. No warm-up newbie battle. As he licked the envelope and folded it over, the gears were still turning in his head. He had a plan, and he knew exactly how to execute it. 

The envelope hit the bottom of the empty blue mailbox on the side of the street and he went home after a hard day's work. 

---

"Sir, would you be interested in a free cell phone with our Norkia lifetime guarantee?" The chipper telemarketer said at the other end of the line. 

"Yeah, sign me up, lady." Traik spoke into the phone the next morning, at 3:17 in the morning when the message had started to go out. The calls were totally legitimate. No made up companies, no false advertising. Real calls from real people. He stood there and listened to the lady prattle on and on about the specifics of the phone, the plan, the traveling fees outside their basic network, everything the customer needed to know, spewed into their ear at the wee hours of the morning when most consumers could barely think, let alone figure out what was being said. Someone had done a study a while ago that proved at three in the morning, most people would agree to anything if it meant they could just go back to bed. 

Spicing the conversation with a few 'uh-huh's and 'yes, please' as he lay in his white sheets, under his down comforter, eyes closed as Pokemon danced in majestic moves and beat each other into sacks of goo in his mind's eye. In his mind, he lead a triple life. He was Traik, city road worker. He was Traik, Blood Bowl participant. He was Traik, the man no one knew. 

After nearly forty-five minutes on the phone arranging for the phone to be delivered to his house, giving his credit card number, signing over his soul and promising them the rights to his first born son, he rolled over and went back to sleep. 

Lifetime guarantees were usually only offered when they expected someone to come out in a box. 


	4. Test Night

(( Authors note: Chapter three was shorter for suspense. Chapter four is the way it is within reason. I know you all want another fight. That's what chapter five is for. At the time this chapter will be posted, I probably wont have even started it yet. ))

He checked the lineup. 

The sound of people still stepping in through the portals and into the arena seating was still filtering in through his ears, but he ignored it. He didn't watch the faces of every man, woman or child who came in through those perfectly rounded holes and into hell like he usually did. He didn't sit there and analyze their thoughts from expressions and body language. He didn't try to guess what each 'warrior' was packing that night. 

He was looking at the list of everyone who had signed up to fight that night as well. 

There was never one fight. One fight was never enough reason to go out. There was one arranged fight, of course, by the first two people who got in line. Anyone else who wanted to sink their fingers into some of the adrenaline free for all was free to. No fight ever had a time limit, because it wasn't necessary The only thing that limited time was the movement of the sun. It had to be broken up and scattered before dawn, when the light was still on their side, or at least the lack of it. 

Checking down the list, he found a fairly good mix of newer and older players for tonight's game. Since he was hosting, his match would be first. His opponents name would be pulled at random from a mix in a hat. Tonight, he didn't know what he'd face, and didn't care. He could lose his best Pokemon tonight, or destroy someone else's ego, pride and joy. When your opponent was random each time, there was no way to tell for certain what would happen. If you survived your first battle as a newbie, then you were set for life. You were always taking off a hunk too big to chew. 

Tonight, however, was going to be the start of something new. Something big. Weather anyone noticed the tension in the air, or how unusually relaxed he was, didn't matter. Weather anyone knew he was hosting or not tonight, didn't matter. At this point in time, what anyone knew, had a hunch about, heard or was even ignorant of, flat out didn't matter. It was the future that mattered. It was the ticket event. It was the circus show before the slaughter. 

He turned with plan to head into the arena and take up a podium, to find Vincent standing directly behind him. Apparently he'd been reading the list over his shoulder and he had been lost too deep into his own array of thoughts to notice.

"Trick, right?" The man smiled at him broadly, slapping a hand on his shoulder in a hard, but comradly fashion.

"Traik, Sir. Vincent, correct? Good to see you here tonight. If this is your first fight since you left for training, you might like what you see today. If you'll excuse me." 

Vincent grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back before he could get away. He lowered his tone and looked Traik right in the eye. "Are you sure you know what you're doing, kid?"

Traik worked hard to keep the smug look off his face. "No, but the only way to prove a theory is to do it, by trial and error if necessary, correct?" 

Vincent nodded and released his shoulder. "Good luck. You'll need it." Turning, he stepped into the growing crowd, just cutting the conversation off at the hilt and leaving the doubt to fester in his mind. 

He just shook his head, getting back to his Zen like state of forgetting the world around him and concentrating on what was ahead. As he headed down into the sub-level below the seating, one of pit fiends handed him the microphone that he'd requested from the announcement box. He still had no idea what to say, he figured it would come to him when he needed it.

He stepped out onto the fresh sanded floor of the pit and slowly, pointedly, paced to the center of the ring. Alone. He'd purposely had it arranged so he'd get the chance for his little speech before the name of his match would be drawn. He looked up as he slowly turned around, looking up at the people still coming in and settling down, looking at the battle scarred faces, dead eyes and all, to the youthful faces that had become suspicious of every difference. 

He continued to wait. He vaguely remembered something about his new phone being delivered at roughly 7 o'clock in three business days. He looked at the watch on his wrist. 6:50. In ten minutes, the gates would close and anyone outside as clocks around the city flipped to 7, was just another normal citizen, oblivious to what was going on deep below their feet. Anyone within the tunnels were admitted, but once the gates were closed, you were in, or you were out. No bargains, no deals. Everyone knew the rules. Those who didn't were impostors, spies, cops. It didn't matter. 

You break any rule of Blood Bowl, and you were instantly a fugitive. You could never really know who was watching you or when it would happen, but you'd likely be killed before you could become any more of a threat. 

Blood Bowl was invitation only. It had to be, because word of mouth was never as reliable as everyone thought it was. With word of mouth, you could never really be sure who would walk in and who could be trusted. 

7:01. 

Damn, he'd left his body and gone somewhere else again. He shook his head and flipped on the mike as the bodiless announcer boomed the usual greetings over the Bowl. 

"Welcome one and all, to the Blood Bowl!" Followed by traditional greetings, naming the battlers for the night, enticing roars or cheers from the crowd, stamps of feet, applause. Either way, someone always approved. His ears had shut to the noise as he just watched people with his eyes, waiting for the dull drone to cease and for his time in the spotlight. 

"-And here you have it folks, the reason for tonight's game, Trainer Traik! How about a big round of applause for our brave host!" The guttural screams and roar and stamp of feet didn't seem to affect him at all. He just looked upwards into the darkness where the announcer's voice was originating from. "Now before we name the opponent for Traik tonight, He's got something to say to you all, hit it man!"

He smirked slightly, wondering if the announcer got paid for this job, considering some of the odd little spins he put on his speech now and then. He flicked on his microphone and raised it to his lips, lowering his eyes to watch the pit fiends enter and take their places by the podium bases. 

"Good evening, friends, fiends and warriors. Tonight is a night like any other. We're here to fight, to the death, to prove ourselves. To prove our skills and prove our relationships with our Pokemon, our avatars, our familiars, our friends. Like every other night, half of you will succeed, and half of you will not. Like any other night, your rank may lower or rise, your ego may boost or be shattered. 

Unlike any other night, you will be watched. Watched by someone looking for extraordinary talent. Watched by someone who can control your life. Someone who can make it end, or someone who can give you total freedom. Doesn't sound any different? Maybe. But the rules are changing tonight. Maybe not now, maybe not next week, but you'll notice. There are going to be a few changes around here." He paused for the angry and confused roar. Changes mean more rules, more restrictions. They didn't like it. He smirked. They didn't matter. It was the ones who remained silent that he was watching. 

"Settle down. You came here to fight or watch a fight. There are now newbies tonight, so you'll see the same old faces." He waved his hands to the extra pairs of pit fiends by the doors of the arena and they vanished into the tunnels. "I know how boring this can get, so I'm giving the dice a roll tonight. I'm making a gamble. Maybe you'll like it, maybe you won't. A little piece to what you're familiar with, boys and girls." 

He clicked off his microphone as he walked towards his podium. He handed it to one pit fiend, while the other helped him up and strapped his feet to the floor of the small structure. He watched the previously signaled fiends bringing in the crates, some by hand, some with the help of a wheel barrow. Some were about as big as his head. Two were just smaller than the podiums themselves, one longer than the other. 

The crowd was a mix of emotions, cheering, roars, shouts at Traik for messing up their long tradition. He ignored it. The crates were opened. Rocks, gravel, a log dropped in the center. No real reason to be in the crates, it was all just for show really. 

"Host Trainer Traik has labeled this night as 'Test Night' folks, and with good reason! Tonight's games will have an assortment of obstacles added to each fight, depending on the level of skill from each player! Ground rules still stand plus one additional. If you want to take up a beef with Traik, do it in the tunnels after the night is over!" The announcer boomed solemnly over the speakers once more. "And tonight's pull of the hat will match Traik against... Trainer Nemo!" 

Traik's brows shot up. He didn't think the kid had made it past his first fight. He figured the kid must have been a last minute entrant considering he hadn't seen the name on the list. It would prove interesting, to say the least. He pulled the pokeball he'd planned on using from the start, off his belt and set it in the small indent of the podium before him, concentrating on it and nothing else until his opponent had arrived and was strapped in.


	5. The List

(( Authors Note: I've had a particularly shitty day today. I've had this laying around for a while, so I figured I'd fix it up a little and slap it up. See if I could work out another chapters since I'm getting into pokemon again. ))

  
Nemo glared at his opponent. It was written all over his face as he looked down at the changes to the arena grounds and up at the crowds, he was going to lose another pokemon tonight. He was sure of it. But this time, he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He didn't know where he was, or who he was fighting, just that if he surrendered, He'd probably be worse off than the little guys he had in the pokeballs.   
Traik watched the younger trainer and saw these open thoughts moving over the younger boy's face. He barely remembered being that age. So young, so innocent. From the looks of it, the boy was catching on very quickly to his situation. As soon as the horn blared, the fight for the survival of they're little balled up friends would ensue. The winner would be praised and given the treatment of a hero. The loser would be lost in despair of losing another pokemon that had so much training, effort and companionship put into it.   
Traik grinned and gave Nemo a little half nod of respect for another battler. Un-surprised that the kid didn't return it. 

The horn blared and the sound of the crowd faded from Traik's ears. If he looked up, he could see them cheering and roaring for one side or the other. But he was deaf to it now. So many years in this game had taught him to block it all out. He pressed the trigger on the ball, almost imagining hearing the little click, and watching the red light seep out, revealing Politoed at the base of his podium. He gave the hardened pokemon a nod and a slight wave of his fingers. Hearing another click across from him he looked up.   
The battle hadn't even begun yet, and he already saw the crushed expression in Nemo's eyes. The child may be standing under his own power, but inside, he'd broken already. The only pokemon he had available to him had been an Oddish. Traik glanced up at the hungry eyes of those watching. They wanted a quick fight. They wanted to see the child get his very psyche eliminated.   
"Well, Politoed... Let us deliver." He softly said under his breath, his eyes forward once more, simply letting his eyes bore into Nemo's skull, while the little one spent the rest of the fight trying to direct his pokemon into something useful in the way of tactics. 

The match was over almost as soon as it had began. The oddish's knowledge was minimal and despite all the spores and powders it threw at the politoed, almost all of it was for naught, the water based pokemon reacting to none of it. The oddish ran around for a while, before it slipped in the gravel and toppled. From there, it was just a matter of politoed ripping the leaves from its head, picking up one of the rocks that had been provided from one of the previously spilled grates, and used it to beat the small pokemon into a pulp. 

Nemo's screams were barely heard under the gleeful sounds of the mob in the benches above the walls. Tears and snot covering his face as the pit fiends pulled him from the strapping and dragged his limp body from the ring, vanishing into the tunnels. Traik stepped down from his podium and walked out to the center, resting a hand on the politoed's head and ordering him to stop his destruction of the little corpse. He raised a fist into the air, and the cheers redoubled for a moment. 

He did not stay there and milk the crowd as so many others liked to do in the beginnings of the little tournaments. He'd let other people do that. He slipped into the tunnels, past the gates he'd only come out of a few minutes before. Once there, he broke into a jog, recalling his pokemon as he went, and soon had his usual spot at the edge of the pit. He wouldn't place any bets this night. He needed to watch every battler for potential.   
He arrived in time to hear the announcer calling for the beginning of the next match. He'd missed the names, but from the looks of the trainers, it was a similar situation as the first fight. One older, battle hardened civilian, and one younger, fairly inexperienced kid. Though this one had fire and spirit to his eyes, something Nemo had lost from the start. And yet, both man and child seemed pretty casual about it. There was respect for the game between them. No ill will for the other, as they knew one of them was going to lose.  
A Blissy came from the older man, and an average looking Ekans from the younger trainer. They paused a moment to look their opponents over, ignoring the crowd much as Traik had done, and soon waved their pokemon onwards and forwards, into battle. Not a command slipping from either of their lips. 

There was no hesitation. Blissy took a deep breath and started to sing. Without a microphone to enhance the volume, the crowd would be unaffected, and even with the cheering and roars for blood, they couldn't hear it anyway. The snake on the other hand, slithered quite fast over the new terrain without a problem and moved in close. The song started to affect it, slowing it down, but not all that much. Before anyone could even blink, the snake had made it within range, and jolted its head forward, fangs sinking into the startled pokemon opponent. 

Blissy screamed in pain, curling back a little and grabbing Ekan's head with its paws, trying to pull the snake free before the poison in its fangs could begin to take effect. The large pink and white pokemon only just managing to pull this off, twin wounds in its side bleeding, a slight reddish-purple slime around the edges, likely the blood's reaction to the poison. Ekans hissed, mouth still open from the position Blissy was holding it in, and tried to catch the pokemon's eye, to execute a leer attack. 

Wiser than that, the Blissy threw the snake's head down to the ground, reaching down to pull the egg from its pouch, ready to use it as another weapon. Ekans proved to be a formidable opponent however. Rather than laying there dazed, the snake moved into action while the egg was being removed and slithered around behind the pink and white behemoth. Another scream came from its mouth as it felt the fangs sinking into the spot between its shoulder blades, another does of poison shuttling into it's bloodstream. Try as Blissy might to shake him off, and after an ineffective tail whip, it only just noticed the snake trying to wrap its coils around its upper body. 

Not to be outdone, Blissy dropped the egg back into its pouch, as the attack it had planned was temporarily useless, and began beating against the coils with its paws, and made a quick dash backwards, throwing the both of them against one of the gates. 

Ekans' coils loosened a moment, dazed from the blow, but remain latched on by fangs buried deep within the flesh, head working back and forth, making itself push more and more poison into the larger body. Blissy took this loosening coils as a good sign and even as the poison caused its muscles to feel like they were burning away from the inside outwards, it gathered a coil in its paws, turned around, and started beating it, hard, against the wall. 

The snake's body truly started taking a beat down, and despite multiple bites and sings to blissey's back, the Ekans was just unable to take blow after blow. Like any slab of pounded meat, the fibers in the muscle started to stretch and break, bones shattering, and it wasn't much longer until the center of the snakes body was so much putty in the pink and white behemoth's paws. One more motion and the innocent looking pokemon had shred the opponent completely in two. 

The crowd went absolutely wild, cheering for the trainer of the Blissy. Ekans died without so much as a hiss as the Blissy performed the finishing move, drawing forth the egg again, and slamming it down on its head, effectively crushing its skull.   
"Yes folks, Garod wins another match! Kudos to Mark for making an effort with his Ekans!" The announcer practically sang over the hidden speakers.   
Traik smiled a bit, and made note of the names.   
Once the Trainers had walked off the arena floor, and the corpse of the Ekans was pulled away, there was a few minutes of people calling for refreshments and things, while the next match was likely being pulled out of a hat. It wasn't long until the gates opened again and the next pair faced each other off on the podiums. Both of them seemed to be considering Traik's addition to the arena. One looking annoyed with the obstruction, the other had a sharp smile, looking like it could cut people down when he spoke, and holding himself oddly. There would be no respect in this fight. These two would fight simply for fighting's sakes. 

"Folks, its some of your old favorites here tonight, the third battle for your eyes only! All the way from the training grounds deep within Dark Cave, we have Crazy Tom!" And the man with the sharp smile looked up from the floor and raised his hands into fists above his head. Many cheered, and just as many jeered. "And from our lovely hometown, Sol!" The other, familiar to Traik from the roadwork crew, Waved to friends in the crowd, and got the home town cheers. 

After the cheering died down, the two got right down to business. Sol released his Meganum, and Crazy Tom let loose Dunsparse. Crazy Tom looked uncertain for a moment, while Sol just crossed his arms and laughed.  
Meganum started to circle the Dunsparse, the smaller pokemon just hovering on its oddly shappen wings, turning and not daring to let the larger pokemon get behind it.   
"Meganum, destroy him." Sol calmly commanded, waving an open fingered hand at the Dunsparse as if he were so much dirt to be swept away, a soft, disconcerting smile flashed to Crazy tom, who's only reply was silence and a twitch. 

The two pokemon moved closer to the center, their movements slow and jerky. Meganum's head bobbing this way and that on the elongated neck as it looked over its battle scarred opponent, looking confidant. Dunsparce couldn't seem to see too well through its eyes, not with the glaring lights of the arena nearly blinding it when it did try to open them past a simple slit. It's little wings fluttered now and then, causing it to hover a few inches off the ground for a few moments, before dropping down to rest again. 

Meganum's chittering, almost crazed laughter at the pokemon it was faced with, caused quite a few in the crowds to laugh as well. The larger pokemon simply pranced forward and raised up its front legs from the ground, and slammed them down again on Dunsparse's skull. 

The smaller pokemon retaliated immediately, letting loose a screetch loud enough to make both trainers and offending pokemon to cringe back, both of them turning away slightly as they covered their ears, almost missing the sight of the following action. Meganum's scream rippled back and forth in the stadium on ground level, the Dunsparce's drill like tail having slammed into the base of its neck, and was twitching and digging in, blood and ichor of the planty creature pouring from the open wound. 

Meganum pushed off from the Dunsparce and backed away, growling. Crouching slightly, and lowering its head, it only paused a moment, before sending a torrent of razored leaves and petals from the growth around its neck, cutting up the hide of the smaller pokemon with natures fury. Despite this, the strange little pokemon progressed through the leaves, and lunged the last few feet - with help of wing and tail - bashing its skull into the previously opened wound, wings keeping it aloft as the drill bit tail curled under and began to drill into the flesh just behind one of the legs. 

A bloody attack, as well as a mistake. Under any other circumstance, this may have been an advantage, but it was over as soon as it had started. Megunum reared up with a howl of a roar, and game back down again, hard, body slamming the Dunsparce into the ground. The spike may have thrust into and damaged the muscles of one of Meganum's legs, but far more audible was the crushing ribcage of having something more than six times it's own weight tumbling down atop it, gravity on its side. 

Crazy Tom whooped and hollered, going off into an explosive rage as he marched down the tunnel. He threw the pit fiends off of him, as he wasn't really a threat to anyone, he was all just show. His crushed pokemon corpse was soon dragged after him at his request, and the crowd roared, cheering and praising Sol for another home town win. 

"Sol marks up to a sixty win streak, folks, today with his Meganum, lets hear a round of applause for Crazy Tom too, always giving us something different to cheer for!" The announcer basically congratulating both. If not for the announcers words, Crazy Tom might not have gotten any praise at all. They all loved Sol from the sound of their praise.   
Traik signaled for another drink from the walking vendors, as many people were doing to keep their throats primed for the harder battles. They were fast and efficient, he noted. The older players didn't waste time with tactics and went right for the head on attacks. Sol had used an elemental attack this battle, unlike the previous two physical ones. Good, but not good enough. His eyes had been on Crazy Tom the entire time, and after a bit more though, he added it into his own personal list. 

As the night continued onwards with the bloody battles to the death, Traik's list hadn't grown much beyond the first three matches. At least half the battles went badly because neither pokemon could figure out how to deal with an obstacle course and kept trying to grapple each other against the walls or the podiums themselves. The fight between Sandslash and Houndoom had been thrilling, with the gouts of flame from the dark pokemon, blackening the hide of the Sandslash. They had heavily mutilated each other before Sandslash had finally thrust its claws into Houndooms mouth and broke into the skull that was protecting the brain. 

He'd added both of them to his list, as they had dealt with the battleground and absorbed it into both their tactics. There were a few others. A Haunter possessing the opponents body and causing itself to swallow rocks and beat its skull against the battlepit's wall until it was mush. Some were noteworthy. Some were not. 

By the end of the little tournament, Traik handed out a few tokens of appreciation to those who'd won and a few of those who'd not. Everyone on his list was also slipped a closed envelope, instructed not to open it until they were safely home. 

It was the beginning. The beginning of the end. 

_ A/N, I know, lame last line, but I couldn't think of anything better. Especially considering how long this fic has been stagnating on my desktop._


	6. Nemo

Jimminty Jillikers, its been over a year since my last update? That just wont do, just wont do at all. Well. I dont have any promises on updating, but here, have another chapter that's beens tagnating in my head for the last few months. Hopefully it'll give you all some more entertainment. And no, this story isnt going to turn into a steamy porn oriented fanfiction. Period. Ash, Mist and Brock will not make any apperances, nor will Jessie and James. Nor will anyone else from the show except possibly Givonni if I cant think of a better person to replace him. (I caved and mentioned Nurse Joy in this chapter).  
  
To the reviewers:  
  
Dawn Allies: Glad you like the fighting so much. Writing turn based combat sucks moneky and its boring as hell. Hopefully youll be just as impresswed with combat when it gets deeper into the story.  
  
Theres actually not much else to say.  
  
Sorry kids, no fancy HTML or Spellchecking today, I've got too much work to do. I'll update this with a it better looks laterin the year when I get a break.  
  
---  
  
Soft tapping on the bars of his cell, Nemo looked up from his blood and sweat stainec ot in the back of the Pits. He'd lost twice and he was breaking down every few hours as the loss of pokemon he'd had such strong bonds to simply died before his very eyes. His friends hadnt even lasted a minute when it counted. Not against the dark people out there.  
  
Terror of some form clutched and clawed at his hearrts as rather than the fiends that had promised him a long walk off a short peir, he found himself looking at his last opponent. Traik Harlequin was knocking on his door.  
  
"Wh-what do you want? I dont have any more pokemon for you to murder." Nemo whimpered, curling up and pulling into himself, his tear filled eyes peering out over his knees at the older youth. If you could call him that.  
  
"I'm not here for that, Nemo." Traik crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the bars, never lifting his eyes from the boy. "I'm just here to talk. Seeing nothing but Pit Feinds all day probably isnt all that calming."  
  
"So I get a little pity before they sent me off to die?" Nemo still looked dead and broken, ready to be added to the piles of those who hadnt made it. But he spoke with a bitter angry spite. There was still a mind in the dead skull.   
  
"Actually, I was going to offer you another fight. But not under these conditions. You werent even given a chance. The usually give SOME indication to atrainer that they'll need to train harder to win, at the very least. You though, you were totally green. It was a completely unfair advantage." Traik watched nemo as he spoke, testing to see what would raise the boy's spirits.  
  
"I dont want to fight to kill." Nemo shuddered, repulsed by the idea.  
  
"And ordering your friends around to fight for money and entertainment is any better?" Traik snorted slightly. "Pretend they're your friends all you want, but how many of your human friends would you order into battle for the same reasons?"  
  
When he was met with silence, Traik continued. "Somewhere along the lines, beating the crap out of someone became illegal. We developed laws and civil structures. Technology and religion inlfuenced it until where we are today. Doesnt mean everyone is happy and care free all the time. Most people actually really hate how they have to live. And somewhere along the line, someone just got a really brilliant idea. Why not breed things with supposedly less intelligence to do our bidding? We cant fight eachother, so we'll call it a game or an extreme sport."  
  
Nemo uncurled slightly, staring at him as he listened. What Traik was saying was the language of an insane man. Pokemon were his friends and they were all one big family. But the question was right. If he had his big brother in a pokeball, would he give the same orders? For that matter, would his little school children friends risk life and limb just to save little young him?  
  
"Theres tother things too. Pokemon arent aloud to attack people. Why is that? Maybe because if there was ever a Pokemon revolt, they've been trained to be better and stronger than us. We'd all get our asses kicked if they took up the option to rebel. So what happens to a revolutionary pokemon? Nurse joy takes it away and we never see it again. Down here in the Bloodbowl though, we know. They get gassed. Put down and just killed for having free thought. Disobedience equals death. Why else would wild pokemon fight so damned hard not to get caught?"  
  
Traik could see the boy's mind fighting itself. Innosence being counteracted by his experince, and now being forced to think. He just kept pouring ideas into his mind.  
  
"They say we live in peace with Pokemon. They do. They're pretty strong about this conception. But every pokemon you see wandering down the street, sooner or later ends up in a little ball on someones desk. Theres a VERY few trainers who actually respect the pokemon enough to never use a ball at all. But most the time they still break the pokemon's spirit through near death combat, offering life as a servant or death under law. Human law.  
  
And perhaps youv noticed. Some species are in massive numbers, breeding like crazy. Take the Beedrill for example. They lay eggs across the islands by the thousands, the little Weedle climbing over trees and plants, chowing down.. This wasnt because of natural selection. Havnt you ever noticed you can only find a Weedle or a Kakuna just outside of towns or in heavily traveled forests? How many Weedlehave YOU fought until they 'pass out' and just leave them behind? These are fragile creatures kid. Every one of them you've ever fought dont just pass out at that stage. They're DEAD. Pokemon travel in masses and herds because of the seer amount of trainers that are encouraged to beat the crap out of them. Its the only way their race has been able to continue survivng US."  
  
"But.. That doesnt explain the point of your games down here." Nemo glared at him a little for messing with his head. Changing the topic so much and trying to make him question his faith. It must be a test. It had to be.  
  
"Doesnt it? Theres no disguises down here. Every trainer thats decided to stay in the Bowl dont lie to their captured pokemon. We're not poachers or slavedrivers. We're going out and finding the pokemon that want this kind of action. The ones that are sick of watching their worlds get raped and abused because us humans cant admit to the fact that we all want to kill eachother. Those that die out here know their battle actually meant something. None of them are given commands. They're just given training and enough indipendance that they fight for their own survival in the pits. The crowds who watch? They're all trainers too. Not a single one of them is just a spactator. We dont allow that down here. "  
  
"What about their pokemon? Do you let them watch too?" Nemo frowned, as he didnt remember seeing any outside the bowl.  
  
"They're offered a place in the stands. None of them have ever accepted. I dont blame them. Most people wouldnt go to a place to see their friends getting killed. Pokemon might attend an arena of trainers killing eachother, just to spite us though. Hard to say what goes on int heir heads without asking them."  
  
"Yous aid most people. What about you?" Something dark slithered through Nemmo's mind. He wasnt sure if he was talking to a revolutionary genious, or a diobolical madman. He hadnt even ehard of this king of thing from Team Rocket's rumors and stories.  
  
"Personally? I'd love to see humans fight their own battles again. Let our blood spill across the island and make it ours again. Pokemon can controll their own damned future for all I care. I've got other plans in mind. Like ending Team Rocket, among other things. They're spreading the slavery of pokemon even faster than general media. Hell, they control the Pokemon Land Themepark."  
  
Nemo gave him a shocked look for that one. He loved that theme park. His parents had taken him there when he was eigt, before he was old enough to become a trainer. All the pokemon themed rides and games, a lot of them teaching him basic knowledge about training and how to identify some of the more widly known pokemon. How could.. How could Team Rocket be responsible for such a wonderous place?  
  
"Why dont you think about this a while. I'll tell the Feinds to hold off a while. Get you some food and drinks. I'll come back in two days. Then you tell me what you think. Full and honest now. Just like I've been honest to you." Traik nodde d slightly to him, then pushed off the bars, heading away from the holding cells and further into the stadium. Twords the Mourge where the losers were giving passing parers and small personal rituals to the dead before leaving. He'd contact the winners later, having them all in mind. The losers he could all catch here at once.  
  
He waited, arms crossed, in the doorway of the mourge. Crazy Tom wasnt his origional combat name. It used to be Cavedancer Tom. He had always brought in some mean ground and rock types to drive his opponents mad with rage. Until people found out what he did with the pokemon that lost.   
  
Just at the moment he was finishing off removing the hide of Dunsparce with his hunting knife, the head and tail already hacked off and put aside. Next he'd gut the creature and start slicing meat off the bones into steaks. Someone's Cyndaquil was watching idly at one end of the table. Every now and then, crazy Tom would spear a bit of flesh, roast it on the back of Cyndaquil's flames then eat it and continue with his work.   
  
The others had more normal ceremonies. Blessings and sprigs of herbs on the corpses. all of which were carefully put out of Tom's reach as he seemed to have uses for every type of pokemon once they had died. The owner of the Houndoom was there bottling as much of the blood from the beast as she could. Sasha was a tall, dark woman. She was known for bathing her future pokemon in the strength of those that had gone before it.   
  
Supersitsions were welcomed here as long as someone was willing to stare death in the eyes and laugh. Just as many non-belivers still came down to the mourge for last rites. To either take something from the bodies, or give to it.  
  
Xaks was over by the far wall, looking down over his dead Electabuzz, his wrist alread slit and dripping his own vital essances over its fur. Hed'd had a rather unfortunate battle with a Golem that had slaughtered the Electabuzz mercilesly with the terrain addittions. Traik aproached him first, settling a hand on his shoulder to let him know he was there. He didnt usually interrupt prayer rites, but Xaks didnt seem to mind.  
  
"You free to talk?" He inquired, clancing over the dead electabuzz, then back to his trainer.  
  
"Yup." Xaks said simply, drawing his wrist back from the corpse and fetching up a bit of salve to temporarily shut the wound, and wrapped his wrist in gauze. "What's the man of the night need?"  
  
Traik smirked slightly. Xaks was one of those guys who'd been around the block a few times but hadnt let anything get to him. You couldnt tell his personality on the outside world apart from his personality in the sport. Calm, cool and detached.   
  
"I'm wondering if you and a few of the others would be interested in a little enterprise I'm developing. Consider it.. The next level of Bowl combat."  
  
Xaks glanced at Traik, his attention caught. Several others from nearby tables momentarily lifted their heads as well. Sure, some of the younger players always had some zany ideas about things that could be done with the system, but Traik was a recognized name with them. He didnt reccomend something unless he'd been thinking about it for quite a while.  
  
"I'm listening."  
  
Traik smiled widely and pulled Xaks out into the hall. Not all the losers were on the list, just a few of them. Xaks, Sasha and Crazy Tom were the ones he wanted on his little excursion most.   
  
---  
  
Minor cliff hanger here. If you dont already know whats coming, then its a definate cliffhanger. For those of you who have seen me write for other generes.. dont give away the plot, damnit. Heh. We'll see if I can pull out another chapter or two this year, but I dont make any promises (the FF8 fans are driving me insane). 


End file.
